


Penalty Enough

by wickedrum



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Emetophilia, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-06-05 06:44:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15164912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedrum/pseuds/wickedrum
Summary: Tauriel repays her punishment for threatening the king's life by saving it





	1. Warning Systerm

**Author's Note:**

> I can't, I can't, I can't. My brain just won't let me stray away from this scenario that plays over and over in my head. I've even written it a dozen times over, which usually helps me with letting the bunny hop free, but not this time. I'm forced to write essentially the same storyline with only circumstantial changes again and again. Forgive my trespasses, My Lord Thranduil, I will try for it to be the last time.

Pairing: Thranduil/Tauriel, but not particularly focussed on romance.  
Setting: Movieverse, from the end of The Hobbit.  
Genre: G, sickfic.  
Characters: Thranduil, Tauriel, Galion, OCs  
Disclaimers: I don't own anything, barely my knickers

Chapter 1: Warning System

Galion settled down on the armchair in the antechamber of Thranduil's bedroom, not even bothering to pull the footstool close for extra comfort for his legs. He was too tired to mind such details. He was pretty sure he had slept a little bit more than his King, who had been constantly on his feet from at least the moment they've received them at the gate of the Elvenking's Halls as they were coming back from the battle unwashed and exhausted, and that was almost a week ago, days that contained nothing but funerals and briefings and Council meetings. Thranduil wouldn't allow himself to rest, not till all of the aftermath of the battle was dealt with, from trade dealings to correspondence with allies and a plan in place to account for the (un)expected prolonged absence of the heir to the throne. 

The early evening didn't even bring darkness with it yet, but both King and personal butler was too tired to take regular daily routines into account. As soon as Galion has managed to pull Thranduil's boots off, he was already virtually asleep himself before his bottom hit the armchair. The sounds of the forest also retreating for the night relaxed him further and he took a semi-conscious moment to appreciate the delight his rest would bring, lulling him into a state akin to floating in the air. Suddenly he was brought back to reality by the ringing of a bell, Thranduil's little call device he kept on the nightstand. 

Galion could hardly contain his displeasure. He had expected Thranduil to fall into a deep sleep as well and remain in that state at least till the early hours of the morning for once as the King really needed to catch up on those couple of hours here and there he would normally require for the week. Thus the butler's entrance back into the bedchamber was less than graceful and he blinked at his master owlishly. “You Rang M'Lord?*”

Staring at a nondescript place on the walls, Thranduil stated quietly and evenly, “I need a healer.”

Galion frowned confused and his frustration with his own tiredness allowed him to blurt out, “what for,” he questioned. “I mean I'm sorry, My Lord, it's just that they will probably ask me,” he tried to cover up his insolence quickly.

“I need to sleep and the pain doesn't let me,” he spat, irritated that he had to explain himself.

The answer bewildered Galion even more, “the pain?”

“Go already!” Thranduil growled annoyed, making it obvious it wasn't time to play around with his temper. 

Galion turned to leave, getting past the doorframe before hearing a strange noise that made him turn. And as curious as it was, he found Thranduil leaning over the side of his bed stiffly, throwing up the wine he had consumed before bed, staining the sheets irreparably as he inadequately angled himself, being hindered by grabbing his belly instead of holding on. As he looked like he would fall off the bed, Galion rushed back to steady him, as well as pull his long hair out of the way before that too seriously needed a wash. The butler groaned himself, momentarily overwhelmed with nausea at the sight of the steadily flowing reddish slop that pooled at his feet, not showing any signs of stopping. Elves didn't normally throw up, not unless they were poisoned or there was something else seriously wrong with them, and therefore Galion had no experience with it whatsoever, and what it did to him as a consequence was making him panic about not having left for a healer more in a haste. At the same time, he didn't feel like he could leave his King shaking with the effort of throwing up violently. 

The butler closed his eyes for a moment and tried not the breathe while he figured out his own positioning as to avoid any contact with any part of the vomit, then pulled the King round as well so that the royal wasn't lying in his own bodily fluids. The movement seemed to have produced a pause in the regurgitation, but Thranduil was now panting and shaking, alarmingly pale. 

“You should sit over onto the divan,” Galion could not imagine leaving his Master in that mess, “I'm going to help you stand up, is that alright?”

Thranduil swallowed thickly, his movements resembling a nod so Galion slipped an arm behind him to steady him under the arms and hoisted, thankful that the lift was successful. Thranduil hung his head and wobbled but ultimately made the first step himself, but they barely made a few steps before his palm on his stomach tightened and he haltered, only making the rest of the distance with a pitiful and uncharacteristic groan that alarmed the butler more than anything, “what happened, My Lord! Apart from the tiredness, you were alright before! The food I gave you myself and I can assure you, it wasn't poisoned.”

“And you would know that because you have sampled it on the way in,” Thranduil grumbled through the cramps, having been aware of this little habit of the other ellon's for decades, something he chose to ignore for its insignificance. 

Galion only took a moment to flutter his lashes in shame as there were more important things to deal with for the moment. “Will you be alright here till I get the healers?”

Instead of an answer, Thranduil leaned forward, a fountain of liquid bubbling out his mouth, hands firmly clasping his midsection, leaving it up to Galion again to make sure his hair did not get in the way and also to realise that he has to support his master's torso as well as the force of the gags made Thranduil slump forward, his legs of not much support to keep him in a sitting position on the divan. The situation seemed desperate and the brown haired elf was torn between just running for help and providing as much assistance as he could himself, decision that was made for him by Thranduil snaking a hand out to grab onto him. “Need to..assure..dignity..eyes,” he managed between heaves.

“The healers won't mind seeing you unclean,” Galion argued. 

“Others might. Clean me up first,” the King ordered once the bout seemed to be finished, though he did not unfold himself. 

“I must protest,” the personal servant put in his penny's worth valiantly, “finding out what's wrong with you is more important.”

“I know what's wrong with me,” Thranduil stated impatiently. 

As his master did not seem to want to elaborate any further, Galion could do nothing else but grab the porcelain dish used for handwashing, along with some towels and a clean set of nightclothes. “Are you sure you're finished vomiting?” He knelt to the side of the king and out the way a bit, just in case. 

“I don't know,” the Elvenking admitted as his arms were pulled around so he could get out his soggy garments. 

The candlelight didn't give a clear view of his bare torso, but it still made the butler pause as he pulled the fabric away from the blond's chest. There were definite discolourations there, dark red and maybe some swollen and green. It was a good place to start cleaning him up at to get a better look. Galion however did not expect his master to outright groan at his touch, virtually buckling to end up having to be supported by the currently stronger elf once more. 

“This is bad,” Alarmed, Galion gripped the king's bare shoulders with more force than was absolutely necessary. 

“Give me a moment,” Thranduil gasped, shaking his head, perhaps to shake off the weakness as well. 

His closed eyelids did nothing to convince Galion at any case, and without any regard to his Lord's wishes, he called out as loudly as he could, “guard! Guards!”

“How dare you!” Thranduil growled and pushed at him, though he could do little more than just sit there lethargic and dazed.

“Get the healers here immediately!” The servant ordered the just as stupefied soldiers who happened to be on guard duty that night, then when they were gone with worried looks, he turned his attention back to the ailing elf, by crouching down and finally giving Thranduil's jawline and upper chest a wash, this time avoiding the seemingly contused areas. He wasn't going to be played or led on either, “does this hurt?” He carefully skirted the discolourations that he could now see reached down Thranduil's entire abdomen, reaching past the bellybutton.

“I can take it,” Thranduil insisted. He had shamed himself enough already as it was.

“Hm,” Galion discarded the initially intended nightclothes, going for a simple, white shirt instead that had open access to the apparent injuries, “wait here till I sort the bed.”

Thranduil nodded, intent on keeping his composure like he had been doing for several days despite persistent cramps and nausea. He knew Galion would work quick and efficient, it has only been for three hundred years that he had been making up his master's bed whenever it was needed after all. Mouth tasting vomit, he swallowed, finding out it was harder to keep down stomach acids if he had already been sick. 

“Come, have a rest till the healers get here,” Galion dared to commandeer the King, but stopped in his tracks to retrieve him when he saw the other elf desperately clasp a hand to his mouth, moaning. “I don't know much about vomiting, but I think I've heard people say that it's better out then in if it wants to come,” he encouraged.

Thranduil slid down to his knees, less as a response to him and more out of necessity, fighting his body heroicly, but knowing he might have to give in. Galion allowed a panicky thought to himself in regards to possibly getting bodily fluids on himself, yet willed himself to offer his services, “just let it happen, you'll feel better,” he presented the little he knew about vomiting once more. At least that's how it had been in his own experience when trying out how drunk an elf could actually get in his youth. His stride over was determined and he put a hand on Thranduil's back to gather and get a hold of his golden hair, as well as encourage him to bend over and get it over with. He hardly had to make an effort however as simply the little leaning over forced the blond to heave wetly and then there was another torrent of half digested wine. “How much did you drink,” Galion complained hypocritically.

The King sat back on his haunches with a sigh, not making an attempt to raise his head or move in any other way. “Any more?” Galion winced in sympathy, releasing his hair, but leaving his palm on the royal's shoulder for comfort. 

Thranduil made a gesture slightly reminiscent of a dismissive shrug, wanting to spit but swallowing it down instead to keep at least an ounce of his dignity. The pressure in his stomach wasn't letting up and neither did the cramping and he wished nothing more than to give up, give in and curl up in bed, “help me up,” he ordered sharply.

Galion reached for the cloth in the washbasin and cleaned his master's chin again before providing his arm to lean on while he hauled the taller elf up with the other. The trek of the few steps to the bed was arduous, but Thranduil was intent on not showing how much his stomach hurt or how the nausea hasn't really abated much. He more fell rather than climbed into bed, “you can leave me,” he announced.

“No chance Sire.”

The Elvenking grunted his displeasure admonishingly. Does nobody follow his command anymore? “You disobey me?!” Doing something about it was out of the question at the moment however so he simply gave the servant a peeved look, mostly annoyed that he could not completely give in to the pain given that someone was watching. He allowed himself to close his eyes though briefly, just till the worst of the nausea was to pass. 

Galion didn't seem to want to accept that either for the moment. Thranduil felt his breeches being pulled down. “They have been spattered with vomit,” the butler explained, “you don't want to have to lie in a soiled bed after the length we went to for making it clean.”

Convinced, Thanduil moved his legs to help the procedure, finding it with surprise that his legs were weak and quivering like jello just with that little effort. The mention of vomit didn't do much good to his stomach either and he feared he might have to soil the bed with a new bout of sickness after all. Finally, without being clothed in anything else, a cover was pulled up on him and Thranduil revelled in the relative peace and quiet, only disturbed by the occasional cramping of his belly. He was quite sure that some time must have passed, but for counting or taking stock, he was too exhausted.

Tbc

*I wanted to use that expression because I love that show, 'You Rang M'Lord?'


	2. Expertise

Chapter 2: Expertise 

The voices around him were irritatingly loud, they made Thranduil surface from his drained slumber enough for the cramps to become too uncomfortable for him to slip back into the ignorant bliss he had the luck to experience for a while and to top it all, somebody dared to touch him, and not just touch but tap his face, however gently. “What d'ya want,” he managed to slur discourteously at the disturbance without opening his eyes. 

“I came to help you. Galion says you are in pain from what seem like injuries and he doesn't have to tell me that there's vomit everywhere. Can you tell me what happened.”

“Huh?” 

It was the voice that made the Elvenking open his eyes. It could not be Tauriel kneeling next to him, could it. “What are you doing here?” 

“Galion came down to the Healing Halls, desperate. But everyone is away into the forest, tending to the wounded at their homes. It would have been detrimental for some of the wounded to be brought all the way to the Caves. So it was just me down there. I have volunteered to help out with the lightly injured as part of my community service punishment.” 

With a dark shadow over his preoccupied mind, Thranduil gazed at her as if uncomprehending for a while so she added, “we sent word to Nimloth, Gelmir and Daenor to return at once, but until then, you will have to do with my skills, however meagre. I am sorry, My King.”

“Nonsense! Do not call three healers back! Belay that order,” he commanded, though not with considerable conviction that was to his liking so he tried again, “do not withdraw assistance from our injured!” 

“My Lord, we do not know which one of the above can come back in due time, it's best for your sake if we don't take any chances with your health,” Tauriel held firm and not as if he seemed to have strength to argue any further. By her observations, he appeared lethargic, spaced out, and with his breath laborious, she didn't think there was more time to be wasted on the issue, “I need to see your injuries if you'll allow me,” she placed a hand on his arms rigidly crossed over his belly. “This is where it hurts?”

“I do need something for the pain without any more unnecessary delay,” Thranduil tried to focus his attention on acquiring a way to carry on with the charade of appearing like a prideful royal and in control till real help arrived. 

“I can't do that My Lord, not just now, not till I know what we're dealing with. It could cause more harm then good. Even if it's just a potion I'm giving you to alleviate pain, I need to know what kind is best, based on the findings,” Tauriel talked to him soothingly, almost as if to a child. 

Thranduil opened his arms with clear reluctance and irritation, as well as a glassy eyed spiritlessness and unhelpfulness. Tauriel had to go the rest of the way to carefully pull the lapels of the shirt out of the way herself. “Hold the candlelight closer,” she instructed the other elleth. “Can I see lower?” Her hand hovered over Thranduil's bellybutton without touching him, certain that the dark bruising that started at his chest did not stop at his waistline. 

The King was once more of very little help bar for a scoff and a small, half-hearted and bitter nod that could be interpreted as not opposing and so Tauriel pulled his breeches a little down, as much as she'd dared, which was not very much, just to confirm her suspicions. “Has this been there since the battle?” She asked on a stern voice admonishingly, a sense of dread and devastation starting to fill her up from the inside. 

“What of it. I had to fight my way up onto Ravenhill after you two traitors.” 

Although it didn't sound accusing, merely factual and surprisingly casual, Tauriel took it upon herself to feel guilty anyway. With a surge of terror of having indirectly and inadvertently caused Thranduil harm, she pulled back and hung her head. “I am not qualified to treat this injury,” she panicked.

“I've ran all over and across the Halls. There's actually no one else!” Galion reminded and urged, with an actual shove of one of her shoulders towards the King with his knee. 

“Of course, of course,” Tauriel found she was virtually hyperventilating herself with the responsibility and self-reproach. She reached for her bag and started haphazardly rummaging in it, “this is very serious Galion. It is athelas that we need, but that has also just about ran out days ago. What was left was taken away by our healers to aid those they went to visit and tend to.”

“What I need is something for the pain,” Thandruil repeated on a clipped voice, though his face remained schooled, not giving any sign of how he was struggling inside to retain his composure, “and the nausea.”

“Do you think you're going to be sick again?” Galion was ready to aid his King to the side of the bed once more. 

Thranduil shook his head weakly, not very convincingly, “nothing's left inside,” he cradled himself again now that Tauriel wasn't prodding. “Just help me sleep if nothing else,” he admonished the redhead as she continued to haphazardly search her sack.

“If I will help you to sleep right now, you might die,” Tauriel countered, “don't you understand, you're bleeding out inside, I can see it, I can feel it, there's no doubt about it.”

“Don't you think I know I'm bleeding,” the King grumbled with a piercing look, “still, I've had worse.”

“I cannot give you anything, I mean it,” she decided firmly, “it will only upset your stomach and you have lost enough fluids already. Only athelas will heal the damage and we need that quickly,” she turned towards Galion, determined and forgetting that she was no longer a captain of the Guard, “let Feren know of the situation and have him order the soldeirs to search every nook and cranny of every abode and home for every scrap of athelas that may be in anyone's possession.”

“Is the King's condition that grave?” The butler gasped.

“Yes. There should be no more delay in his treatment, his life might depend on it.”

Galion nodded to the side confidentially and pulled Tauriel out of Thranduil's immediate hearing range, “in that case, wouldn't it be more advantageous just to announce the situation to the people? Someone might be able to come forward with the plant without their places being searched without explanation,” he whispered.

“The King will never stand for it being known,” the redhead frowned, “but you're right, we cannot consider that now. Whatever his wrath may bring later for it, so it shall be.”

Galion gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze in agreement and set off to accomplish the task while Tauriel turned her attention back to the king. The couple of moments he was left alone for didn't do him any good. He moved not and yet he seemed restless. Tauriel liked neither his pallor or his shaky breaths as they spoke of great pain, so hard to watch that she found herself reaching out and brushing her hand against his brow compassionately and that on turn brought another shock with it, that there was a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. Such a thing didn't often happen to elves.

He startled, eyes focusing on her, than winced, the movement having caused him pain. “I will take care of you, I promise,” Tauriel found herself say devoutly, rummaging in her bag once more, “I have an idea for the pain. A mixture I'll bathe the site of the injury in, it should help, just wait, it shouldn't take long till I boil the root,” she rambled on, nerves getting the better of her.

“I believe in you,” he sighed reverently, as if speaking from a different world.

Tauriel looked up for a moment. It was her turn to be startled as it wasn't something she had expected Thranduil to utter, especially not in this moment in time. It was no time to neither dwell on it however either, or look for an elaboration and the moment passed quickly, with Thranduil withdrawing into his own, persistent pain filled existence again, eyes glassy and expression woozy, leaving Tauriel to wonder if she'd been hallucinating herself. The fact that his hand relaxed a little as he held his abdomen did not comfort her as it seemed to only be because he had entered a state where he barely held onto consciousness.

Tbc


	3. Processed

Chapter 3: Processed 

“Who thought you the skills of massage?” Thranduil mumbled tiredly, half lulled into sleep by the rhythmic, gentle kneading of his belly and the sedatives Tauriel had administered. 

“Magwyn.”

“Magwyn? She had been killed in action around two hundred years ago when you were nothing but an elfling.”

“You may remember that I was trust in her care at first after I was found in the woods.”

“Of course I remember. It was there that Legolas took a shining to you when often visiting Magwyn for the best of the honey she had a good sense for to collect. You were brought to the royal quarters shortly after, for his companionship. You didn't even spend that much time with the old botanist.”

“She was kind to me and my eyes keenly absorbed everything she was doing.”

“Thank the Valar,” Thranduil squirmed under the thin sheet his lithe legs and groins were covered with, seeking to get the remaining pain to shift.

“How are you doing?” Tauriel winced with him in sympathy and her voice shook a little with it, noting his flaring discomfort.

“I believe you were of great use,” King Thranduil admitted, “now if you would give me something so I can finally sleep.”

“I'm afraid that's not so simple.” Tauriel's voice was tired, “forgive me but you are gravely ill and I'm worried that if I put you to sleep you will never wake up again.”

“Nonsensical Tauriel, I'm not that ill.” His eyes bore into her suggestively, as if he could make it how he said by wanting it to be so.

“I'm sorry to have to argue over such a matter but you are gravely, critically ill I'm afraid, Your Highness.”

“Falderol. I have managed over a week on my feet after being injured, there's no way I could have done that if I was as stricken as you suggest.”

“Your condition accumulatively worsened with every moment you have spent not taking care of yourself,” the Silvan admonished, “not seeking the arts of healing. With you constantly moving, the bleeding of your insides could never cease and now you have not just lost too much blood that way, but also kickstarted a self-poisoning process.”

“I don't feel that bad. I will deal with it.”

“You can't and I can prove it,” the redhaired elf removed her hand impulsively and sat further back. The effect wasn't quite immediate, but Thranduil felt his insides twitching peculiarly to start with straight off before the discomfort turned into overwhelming, roaring cramps that made him gasp and toss himself around to try to find a position that eased the anguish. Tauriel couldn't watch that for long. She simply set her hands upon his belly again, soothing it, whispering spells. 

“Tauriel..?” Thranduil finally found his voice, quite stunned by what had happened.

“It's alright, just rest,” Tauriel ducked her head in embarrassment, having had indirectly caused him anguish. “It might take a moment before you can loosen up to the same level as I had you at before.”

“You really do know your art,” he marvelled, “as if you hadn't been a warrior and killed none.”

“I always try not to aim to kill when I shoot an arrow, My Lord,” Tauriel whispered somewhat conflicted, cautious and embarrassed, “it's only to disarm and take the opposition out of the equation.”

Thranduil looked at her curiously, as if seeing her for the first time for as long as his regularly drooping, tired eyelids let him, at her comely features, her encouraging, warm smile and the openhearted eyes. There was a disturbing dissonance in his ears, as if his head would have been submersed in water and its decibel was growing, drowning out the sound and feel of his heavy heartbeat, crushing his skull. It was very hard for him to keep up with the conversation, let alone utter a response. 

Tauriel must have realised some of his troubles as a cloth appeared, warm and soothing, placed on his forehead and the noise that he knew was coming from his own brain became subdued. She was casting spells on him, but a very different kind than the healing chants and without her conscious knowledge or intent. He could not but marvel at her, whether with eyes hooded or closed. The glimmering light of her soul illuminated him from inside out, a luminance that felt in its essence green and of the forest, pure like the twinkle of stars. It he would have had any spare blood flow left, its purity would have made him blush as he could not compare. 'I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew:  
Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew.  
Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea,   
And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden Tree.   
Beneath the stars of Ever-eve in Eldamar it shone...” The Elven song resonated within him naturally. 

“My Lord..Thranduil..Thranduil please..”

The King opened his eyes wide at the call that he realised must've been going on for a while, shaking the exhaustion off for at least a moment to respond to her desperate pleas. Tauriel drew her hand back, relieved and a little embarrassed that she had been patting a royalty's cheek. “You didn't breathe for a while, you seemed gone,” she hyperventilated, blowing the air our forcefully to calm herself. Though she did her best to remain composed, her heavy voice gave her away. 

He managed a small shake of the head, but it set his stomach cramps off, which in turn made him gasp and moan shakily. His hand looked for purchase and he found it in hers, hanging on tightly and adversely reassuring her that he still had some strength left. “It will pass in a moment, lay still,” she encouraged and indeed it was so, but he felt his mouth tasting of iron, very sick now and absolutely certain neither him or his abdomen could suffer through another bout of throwing up. Tauriel seemed to have guessed this too as the rubbing hand moved from his bellybutton area up to his solar plexus and the chant she performed there seemed to have done the trick of reducing his nausea. He could more or less relax again, take comfort in the silence in his ears for the moment, with his other senses leaving him too so much so that Thranduil needed someone to hang onto, someone to tell him it was alright. He forced his eyelids to blink, his blue eyes looking for absolution. “Mmm,” he made the only sound he could to show his need. 

“I was told that at least two of our healers should be on their way back to the Halls now,” Tauriel encouraged soothingly in the only way she could in a hesitant response, knowing fine well how what she could offer him was not sufficient. Without any help, he will die in her arms. She felt so empty, having already given all of her spirit that she could. She would stay and deplete her strength to the last drop if it was necessary and yet it might all be meaningless and insignificant in the end. It was hard to see him like this, deathly pale like the sheets underneath his body and lost, his resolve gone. His lips getting slack and of a distinctly visible blue tint, he was fading away with every moment gone, there was no doubt about it. He looked helpless and almost innocent lying on his back facing the ceiling like that, but it was the ethereal light she sensed about him that bothered her most. Too eerie, too otherworldly, gleaming too unnaturally. It felt wrong to experience that too, excessively intimate.

His beautiful blue eyes became unfocussed, though he took the effort to struggle to keep them open against the profound weariness that cleaved deep trenches over his entire features, a stark contrast to his hair the colour of the whitest sand strewn in every which way due to his earlier trashing. He shook his head again, despite the threatening anguish at the move, then got himself together after the temporary reprieve to deal with it enough to stare up at her and say, “I'm glad it's you.” Considering that he might indeed be on his deathbed, he could hardly acknowledge how he knew he would think of her every free minute till his dying breath, which contrarily, might not be that far away. He mourned the loss of possibilities for a moment and he could have laughed at the absurdity of it all, having found a purpose to live for right when he was at death's door. He had to tell her, but at this point it hurt too much to make a move, or even take a deeper breath, a too scary of a possibility. 

“I will comfort you any way I can,” the wood elf committed herself out loud too, “but is there anyone I should call? Any order you'd like to give?”

Hazy eyes took a moment to understand the questions. She was asking for his last wishes. Perhaps his logical mind was gone already because the only idea that came to him was, “hold me.”

She was thrown by the suggestion and he would have noticed if he could keep his eyes open. “Hold..how?” 

Thranduil felt a little frustrated. Was he really supposed to spell it out in his condition how a person holds another. He made an effort to stare at her instead with a reproachful look that Tauriel thankfully interpreted as being prompted, “I fear that moving you at this point would not just cause unnecessary pain but also hasten deterioration along.”

“Hold me.” Thranduil repeated. While it was no plea or command, it was firm enough said for Tauriel not to question it any longer. She moved to position herself high on the bed, practically replacing the pillows with herself, succeeding in only making the King gasp a couple of times in the process of easing him onto her lap. But now that she held his frame, it made it obvious how he trembled, the involuntary move itself bringing his insides anguish. Tauriel reached to place a hand back on his abdomen, noting how thin he felt in her arms. There was no way he was becoming this skeletal only over the last week, it had to have been starting months, maybe years before. 

“You brighten up the ranks, the entire land.” Thranduil's words shook her out her worries. She felt him hang onto her a little tighter and he looked up, into her eyes. Tauriel's confused frown prompted him further, “your morals and capacity for love.”

“Forgive the disrespect My Lord, but save your strength,” the Silvan shook her head, not wanting to hear it. Those were relatively long sentences, more than he had managed at all lately, “we have better things to concentrate on.”

The ruler of Mirkwood dismissed her with a single nullifying head motion, “I need to say it. You need to hear it as I'm dying,” he acknowledged in whisper. 

Tauriel swallowed. She wanted to argue with it, but there were no real arguments so she simply forced a smile. “The healers will be here soon. You just need to hang on a little more, hush now.”

The royal paid her no heed. “You are the most beautiful, open and refreshing subject I ever had.” It was clear he had trouble focusing and what he thought of vital of sharing was depleting his last reserves. His hand twitched, grappling the air in the direction of his belly. 

The elleth tried to gently adjust her hold, letting him fold into himself a little more, “I am so sorry you hurt so much.”

“I know you're doing your best,” Thranduil assured with a small, unbelievable smile that he forced out for her sake, “it's alright,” he kept eye contact and his weak voice steady, making sure she understood he blamed her not. “I have lived long. But I regret not letting you know of my appreciation for you.”

“Thank you,” Tauriel changed tack as she interrupted, wanting the topic and his efforts over with, “I believe you”.

It only silenced him momentarily till his sluggish mind remembered what it was intending, “if it wasn't for Legolas' feelings for you, I would have asked to court you.” Tauriel blinked at him uncomprehending, wondering if his condition could have made him delirious. 

“Hear me! If I'm going to die, I'd like you to know that you are the only one who could reawaken my heart.”

“My Lord, you are mad with the pain,” the redhead realised that she had stopped both chants and rubbing his belly because of the shock that his words elicited in her. 

He gave a small headshake, “Hush. I can't feel anything, only my love and admiration for you.” He did seem to have perked up too.

“Oh Valar..” The finding unsettled Tauriel more. It had to be the moment of high and clarity most people experienced right before the end. But then if there was clarity then what he was saying had to be true. “How can this be,” she muttered. “Don't say that, not now when you're going to meet your better half,” Tauriel was now concerned for his well-being when in Valinor.

“Meleth nin, don't you understand. I am not going to Valinor, nor meet Finduilas. I have sinned enough in mind to break that union,” he revealed.

“No!” The redhead paled enough to compete with his pallor. “You must be hallucinating, imagining talking to someone else,” she decided in favour of the only feasible explanation. 

“If you weren't here, I would send for you. I feel light, I feel myself going. Will you forgive me for being so harsh on you. I had to be, no one could know of my failures to wait to see my wife again, it's not fitting, not for a Sindarin King out of all.”

“I forgive you,” Tauriel rushed to utter a nod fiercely in confusion, not even thinking whether it was really so. She had to pacify him no matter what, that was of primary importance. 

It seemed to quieten him indeed to a small, albeit somewhat sad smile, “I wish you a wonderful life and that you find your mate to bond with.”

“What about you!” Tauriel panicked again, “an eternity of solitude to await you, how can you choose that, how can you be settled into it,” she worried in his stead. 

“What's new,” Thranduil explained in short, panting, running out of strength now.

“Are you sure your wife will not be waiting for you,” the elleth was horrified. 

“Mm,” the King closed his eyes with a small affirmative head movement, too tired to respond in any other way.

“My Lord, you can't go yet, not like this,” Tauriel resorted to shaking him now. Thranduil winced with a weak moan, awareness of the pain finally reaching his brain again to some extent, jolting Tauriel out her thoughtlessness into logical thought, “I won't let you die to pass into eternal solitude,” she grabbed his hand to lift it to her heart. She hadn't ever been present at any declarations of a union between any couples, but despair racked her brain deep, thus uncovering some hidden knowledge she never knew she had. Words tumbled out her mouth without thought, her only hope being that she was remembering the vows right, or at least as short of a version of them that was still sufficient to bring the union into existence, “clear are my eyes and bright my soul oh Eru, starlight and the Western flowing seas,  
with which I offer my hand and heart and fae oh Eru, starlight and the Western flowing seas,  
so nevermore will we stand alone, never till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead.  
Warm now be the heart and the spirit for fate   
will bring us back together forevermore in its stead.  
Beyond all towers strong and high,  
beyond all mountains steep,  
in front of all the shadows and the Sun  
and the Stars that forever dwell:  
I pledge to never leave your side,  
nor bid you ever farewell  
for my love sings for you in joy to come  
out of doubt, out of the dark,   
to the day's rising to ride singing in the sun   
over death, over dread, over doom,   
lifted out of loss, out of life, unto long gloriole.” Dare to look at him she didn't, not till now, not till the vow was done in haste, fearing she was losing him in the middle of it. She could now see that Thranduil was blinking at her in confusion and Tauriel shrank back, suddenly not so sure of what she had done. Maybe he didn't want it after all, but in that case there was nothing to fear. If a steadfast intent was not there from his part, the bonding would never happen anyway, all that would happen was that she had embarrassed herself in front of a dying elf. 

He seemed to be struggling to speak, and grappled with himself at the same time. Her whole life was ahead of her, he had never wanted to chain her to himself. Instinctively though, he decided to simply squeeze her hand and pull it over to his heart, attesting his love. Raising his head a little, she understood that he wanted her to lean closer. “Until the stars are all alight,” he whispered a simple response, enough however to shock her and also, seal their union. It wasn't exactly intended all along, but their hearts connected nevertheless, filling them with warmth, momentarily staving away the cold hands of death. He relaxed in her arms in surrender, comfortable and ready and she vowed to herself to comfort him till the end, whatever it was that he needed. Tauriel didn't notice the intrusion, two other elves stepping into the room, not till Galion touched her shoulder. 

Tauriel regarded the elleth who had come with the servant in confusion. She barely knew her, has probably seen her no more than a couple of times around somewhere. “This is peredhil Dera,” Galion refreshed her memory.

“Yes?” The redhead was pretty sure the half-elf did not have healing abilities, so why was she here. 

“This is all that was left that we didn't use for my father,” the newcomer extended a small bottle with half a dried leaf inside it.

“Pour some water into the vial, it should dissolve the athelas!” Tauriel yelled at Galion in excitement, then remembered the benefactor, “please Dera, tell your father that we are thankful and that the King will recompense him as soon as he can.”

Dera shook her head sadly, eyes glassy with tears, though her expression remained giving, “not even athelas could help my father, Captain.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Tauriel's sentiment was genuine even as she raised the filled vial to Thranduil's lips.

“Glad to be of service,” Dera bowed, letting herself be led out by the butler. 

“My Lord, you have to drink this, try swallowing, we can't waste one drop for it isn't sufficient,” Tauriel angled Thranduil's neck and head to facilitate this endeavour. Not getting any reaction, she just poured some of the liquid between the slack lips of her King anyway, hoping for the best if enough of the beneficial effects will be transmitted through smell and taste. 

The Elvenlord took a sudden, deeper breath as the tincture indeed revitalized him somewhat, which was the wrong thing to do under the circumstances as it made him cough and prompt both Galion and Tauriel to jump to raise him up further. As she supported him, she stared at his chest, still bare and visible through his open shirt. First it was to see how his breathing went, but then did she see some of the discolourations fade? Encouraged, she only waited till he regained some sort of composure over the heaves and she pushed the vial under his nose again, “drink!”

The blond slurped the little amount of liquid down in a one go, knowing he didn't have much time before either coughs or exhaustion took over. Thankfully he was let back down into Tauriel's lap after, allowed to close his eyes and let himself go, regardless that two pairs of eyes still kept staring at him. “Relax. We have to give the athelas some time to work its magic,” Tauriel commented, all the while not sure herself who she wanted to convince. That tiny amount of herb, they would not know yet if it was enough to keep him alive. Anxiety squeezed her heart into palpitations and by the looks of it, the butler was the same way. Galion leaned forward transfixed, almost on the bed himself, scrutinising the lesions on Thranduil's front. “He's not as pale as before, right?” He fretted.

“I think he's breathing easier,” Tauriel agreed. 

“The bruises, they seem to be retreating.”

“He isn't holding himself so rigidly protective of his belly anymore,” came the redhead's running commentary as both the witnesses tried to release some of the tension in their hearts. 

“He's going to make it,” Galion felt positive.

“Until more help and medicine arrives, definitely,” Tauriel was now convinced as well given how the creases on Thranduil's forehead smoothed out themselves, “he just needs to rest.”

“You saved his life,” the butler ascertained, “we would have not figured how bad off he was till it was too late, he did not even know himself. Everyone can forget your trespasses now,” Galion squeezed her shoulder benevolently, “the King will be forgiving.”

Tauriel wasn't so sure. Yes, maybe she had saved his life but she did also bond with the King, everlastingly shackling him to herself without his explicit bidding! How his realisation of this would go down once his mind was clear, that she could not know. She felt like running, but then again, she could not run from him, not now, and not ever, he would always feel her whereabouts until the end of time. What had she done! 

Tbc


	4. Polity

Chapter 4: Polity

Tauriel felt Thranduil starting to regain consciousness well before his eyelids started to flutter, the same way as the blond felt her presence as well close by, both intuitively and naturally cognisant that this was how it would by nature be from now on, but without dwelling on it in Thranduil's case. However she tried to steel herself, Tauriel was high strung, uneasy to the extent of queasy as she awaited the inevitable fallout. What she had done was scandalous. Whether he had agreed to it at the time or not, who knows if he would judge that she had overstepped the mark or taken advantage of his vulnerable state. 

“You..” Thranduil's first word after resurfacing didn't fill Tauriel with a lot of indubitability, but then he raised his hand towards her, holding it out. Still, the elleth wasn't entirely surefooted when she took the hand as his eyes seemed out of focus yet. 

“How are you feeling?” She ventured, worried for his health still. He seemed to study her with a vague expression, slowly trace the lines of her face in great detail as if trying to recognise her. It made her more uneasy, bar for the fact that the hand she held pulled her closer and then pulled at her hand a little more till he could raise her palm to his lips and kiss it. She gasped, hardly believing the reality of his positive reaction and tears prickling her eyes at the surprise.

“I am mated it seems?” He smiled, incredulous and agleam instead of referring to his illness as asked and squeezed her hand harder. 

“You're not mad?” Tauriel's voice broke with the emotion, happy and troubled at the same time. 

“I expected to die,” he stumbled on the words also, clear that he was still unwell. 

“I expected you to die as well,” Tauriel nodded to explain her actions, “but you're feeling much better, yes?” 

“You can feel it that I am,” Thranduil reminded her of their new connection and how she should trust it.

“I also sense it that you feel weak and that your wounds are still giving you considerable pain.”

Thranduil sighed and forced himself to relax a little, uncurl his tight muscles. He did not want to alarm her any more than she was already given how fresh her experience with bonding was. “It is of no consequence,” he assured her, though his hoarse whisper of a voice didn't quite have the desired effect. 

Tauriel nodded half-heartedly, not liking the slack feel of his hand in hers. “I've been assured that Gelmir is on his way back in haste. I can hardly wait till he examines you.”

“Good,” he nodded his agreement curiously more energised than Tauriel had expected him to be. “I need all the help I can find to get better to be able to consummate our union as soon as possible,” he surprised her with the frivolous answer.

Tauriel felt her insides jolt, as much as with agitation as also with some unexpected scorching heat that ignited in her lower belly. She tied to swallow it down, fighting her speechlessness valiantly, cheeks becoming flushed. “You should rest, for now,” she finally took the initiative to withdraw her hand and stop giving him unnecessary stimuli, “close your eyes,” she spoke on a muted voice to match his and also to encourage his well needed respite.

“If you lie with me a while,” Thranduil surprised her once more. He reached out again, not accepting her withdrawal, “have I told you before that I love you.”

Tauriel lost her breath for a moment as she looked at him, her mind having trouble accepting his fond and sweet demeanour towards her, and yet their connection confirmed every emotion he was feeling. He loved her and it wasn't anything new either. “Why did you need to torture me with coldheartedness all those years,” she asked incredulously, voice stumbling through the many obstacles of her current state of mind. 

Thranduil's sigh told of physical duress but he answered nevertheless, “simple decoy.”

“Do you want some water?” Tauriel offered, noting his difficulties talking, “I think it's fairly safe to assume there aren't any more holes inside you to hinder the endeavour.”

Thranduil took a few deep breaths, assessing his own level of nausea before nodding and acknowledging his need. With the mountain of pillows behind him, Tauriel had only to raise a cup to his lips and patiently wait for his sipping till he looked too exhausted to continue. He tied to give her a grateful smile but it turned into a groan. “Your Majesty!” Tauriel worried again.

“I'm alright, reach out, sense it and you'll know,” the blond instructed quickly. As much as it bothered him that he was making her worry, it also filled him with joy as proof of her feelings towards him, something he could sense better than the other way round because of previous experience with the phenomenon. His stomach hurt and he felt woozy, yes, but none of that mattered, not when he was tethered to the most beautiful ellon in the realm and a future with her. “I want you to lie down with me and drop that ridiculous 'majesty', at the very least in private for now.”

“Lie down with you,” Tauriel echoed disbelievingly, pupils widening.

“Yes. What is so different now, you did that on your own when you were tending to me.”

“That is true, but..it has a different meaning when you are not on death's door or in agony. What if someone sees us.”

“Let me deal with that meleth nin, now come here,” he wrapped his fingers around her wrist at the same time as closing his eyes, indicating how much he wanted the exploit but also that he had no more strength for further argument. Not wanting to cause him any more bother, she slid quickly beside him to answer his plea, finding that he had enough presence of mind and strength to wriggle a little to give her more space away from the edge, then curl around her to envelop her with his much taller body, his silken long hair enough of a cocoon for both up them. She glanced up at him and into dull and bleary eyes that only opened for a moment, but there was a definite smile on his lips. Now who was cuddling who! 

“Tauriel.” His voice was soft, breathy, but determined and pleased, its soft tone reverberating persuasively against her earlobe up close. 

It made her shiver and a natural hunger for passion awoke in her, “My Lord,” she uttered reverently, “how can I be of service?” Her lips trembled as she struggled with her emotions.

“Thranduil. Say it. You need not to address me any other way.”

“Thranduil, but how. How should I dare.” She had goosebumps at the prospect of being so intimate with him.

“Trust me, trust your instincts, trust your senses,” he pulled her hands to his heart, “like I feel with absolute certainty that it wasn't just pity that made you take this mad move. You can say it but you need not to say it because I already know that you love me. Calm down, muin nin,” he turned to look into her eyes, give her the assurances she needed. 

Tauriel's nod was slow, “it shall take a while to get used to the address,” then jumped with the next thought, “what will the people say? How do I know my duties as your wife?” She panicked. 

Thranduil attempted a laugh that made him wince and rub a hand over his belly again, “you are so whacky sometimes Tauriel. I'm pretty sure you are already capable of everything that is required of an Elvenqueen, a wife and more.”

“Elvenqueen.” The redhead panicked some more. It was still a bit of a shock to think of herself as so close to the King.

“Did you know that many of my Council has suggested a Silvan match? They said it would please the people.”

“Oh Thranduil, what have I done. This is madness,” Tauriel could still not come to terms with the reality.

“And yet you don't regret it.”

“Of course not,” Tauriel returned quickly, a tad bit annoyed that he was so adept at accessing their emotive bond and she wasn't. 

“You shouldn't either. It saved my life.”

“The athelas saved your life.”

This time, Thranduil didn't mind the jolt of pain in his abdomen at the movement caused by his laugh, “you've much to learn about bonds,” he reminded her, kissing her temple, “and the more we spend attached physically too, the quicker you'll get it,” he sighed contently before pulling her closer against his chest. 

The End.


End file.
